


Water Hammer

by ClearingSky



Category: Emergency!
Genre: Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 19:17:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13196793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClearingSky/pseuds/ClearingSky
Summary: Stoker witnessing Johnny get hit by that car is the last straw for him in 51s latest string of serious incidents, prompting a late night tete-a-tete between an Engineer and his Captain and giving Mike insight into his captain’s past.  Tag to “The Nuisance”, written by Robert Hamilton and Hannah Shearer.





	Water Hammer

 

# Water Hammmer

 

[original posting online: Oct 25 2017]

 

* **Water hammer** : also called **_hydraulic shock;_** a pressure wave at sonic velocity caused by a sudden increase or decrease in flow velocity of water in various plumbing and piping systems. The primary cause is from fast-closing or fast-opening valves, which can create an energy surge that is transmitted in the opposite direction at many times the original pressure and can be severe enough to rupture a water main.  

 

In firefighting, water hammer, caused by nozzles or supply lines being shut off too quickly or a sudden spike in extreme water pressure, can cause damage to hoses, couplings, the hydrant, the engine pump and piping.  It can also cause the Engine to cavitate and even cause water to backflow through the main, flooding homes and businesses from inside. 

 

**Water hammer can also cause a loud banging inside the piping system, which can, sometimes, repeat itself...**

 

 _*Definition partly taken from:_ Water Hammer and How It Can Damage Pipes and Piping Systems by David Balkan. 

 

 

* * *

 

// Other references:   _The Stewardess_ , written by Preston Wood; _Equipment_ , written by Robert Hamilton; _The Indirect Method_ , written by Michael Norell; _Pressure 165_ , written by Edwin Self; _The Girl on the Balance Beam_ , written by Robert Hamilton; _The Great Crash Diet_ , written by Timothy Burns; _The Tycoons_ , written by Mark Massari, Robert Hamilton and John Groves //

 

 

**** Note: in an effort to portray the events in this story in a unique way, the formatting is necessarily untraditional and may make it distracting or near-impossible for electronic readers to follow. 

 

 

* * *

 

**| Shut-Off |**

 

 **|** \------

 

\--Station 51, Station 8, Truck 36, Engine 18, structure fire.  West end of a plant.  7210 North Commerce.  7-2-1-0 North Commerce.  Cross street, Market.  Time out: 8:12.--

                                                                     _“…Battalion 14, Engine 51.  We’ve got a flammable leak, here, from inside the building.  We’re liable to lose the tank and this whole side…”_

 

                                                                       --Station 51, Station 18, Engine 54, Truck 93.  Waterflow alarm.  417 East Main. Cross street, Fort.  4-1-7 East Main.  Time out: 8:17.--

_“…LA, Engine 51, We’ve got a man down at this fire.  Request an ambulance.  This building is now fully involved…”_

 

          --Station 51, Engine 116, Engine 8, Truck 127, structure fire.  1192 Sixth Avenue.  1192 Sixth Avenue.  Cross street, Olympic.  Time out: 16:12.--

_“…HT 8, HT 51.  I’m going inside looking for a victim.  Come to the north side and take over...”_

 

\--Station 51, Engine 36, Engine 127, structure fire.  129 East Alhambra.  Cross street, Ninth.  Time out: 13:40.—

                                _…”Hey!  Over here!  C’mon!  On the double!  Foot that ladder for me, the second floor’s gone!”…_

 

                                                 --Station 51, Engine 36, Engine 116, Truck 127, structure fire.  Acme Flour Company.  1145 Central Boulevard.  1-1-4-5 Central Boulevard.  Cross street, Webley.  Time out: 11:15--

  _“…LA, Engine 51.  We’ve had a second explosion.  The building is quite well involved, here.  I want a second alarm…”_

 

 --Station 51, Engine 14, Engine 18, Truck 28, Battalion 14, train fire.  Pacific Dock, Pier 5.  Cross street, Ocean Boulevard.  Time out: 14:05.--

                                 _“…Engine 51 at scene.  We have smoke and flame coming from the train...” …~…“…LA, Engine 51, Code I!  Respond me an ambulance!...”_

 

                                                         --Station 51, vehicle accident with injuries.  1300 block of Canyon Road.  Cross street, Mulholland.  Ambulance responding.  Time out: 14:15.—

_“….Chet, come on in here with the line!...”…~…“…We also have a Code I at this location…” …~…“…How ya doin’ babe, you get the fire knocked down?...... Yeah, Cap…”_

 

   --Station 51, Station 8, Truck 36

                 _‘…we’ve got a man down…’_

         Cross street, Olympic

               Time out       

_“…smoke and flame…”_

                         structure fire _“…the second floor’s gone…!”_

                                           Canyon Road

Station 51, Station 18    _“…you get the fire_

_knocked down…?”_

                                      _“…I’m going inside…”_

            Ninth           Truck 127

                              _“…Code I …”_

                         Battalion 14      _“…second alarm…”_

_“…Engine 51 at scene…”_

                                                                    _‘…quite well involved…’_

                                                           Acme Flour Company               

             Cross street             

                   _“…looking for a victim…”_

 

             _“…Code I at this location…”_

 

                                  Vehicle accident with injuries

Time out

                             Station 51

                                            _“…Request an ambulance...”_

                                     

_“…fire knocked down…”_

_“…Code I…”_

                   _“…Foot that ladder!…”_

 

                                                                 Structure fire

                                      Cross street, Ninth

                                                                                          Time out

                                    _“…respond me an ambulance…”_

                           _“…man down…”_

Station 51 

 

            Structure fire 

 

                      _“…Code I…”_

_“…man down …”_

                     

Ninth

 

    Ninth

 

 

      Ninth

 

     

 

 

                                      Time…

 

 

* * *

 

**|| Pressure Surge ||**

 

**< 7:13 am  >**

 

Mike Stoker dragged the duffle bag off the seat from his pickup truck, slung it over his shoulder and banged the door shut.  He ambled across the parking lot asphalt to the open back bay door of Los Angeles County Fire Station 51, his feet aiming between the Engine and the dorm.

 

As he rounded the back of the rig, he flicked a glance up at Big Red and stopped dead, eyes fixated on the Officer’s side door.

 

He hitched a breath…

 

_‘….Chet, come on in here with the line!...’_

_‘…We also have a Code I at this location…’_

 

_‘…How ya doin’ babe, you get the fire knocked down?...... Yeah, Cap…’_

 

Mike involuntarily winced, eyelids quickly blinking as if warding off the phantom voices.  It’d only been a few days since Cap’s Electric Shock Impersonation of The Flying Walendas.  His prognosis had been good, in fact, Cap was expected back at work today.

 

But somehow….

 

They’d finished the shift with Captain Polger under the weighted air of a crew that’d had the rug pulled out from under them.  The few runs they’d had while Polger filled in for Captain Stanley had been disorienting – it wasn’t Hank Stanley’s voice answering at the call station, barking orders, or radioing in to Dispatch at the scene. 

 

Wasn’t his presence in the cab of the rig…

 

…exacerbating the heaviness in Mike’s chest that things simply hadn’t been right, lately, that Captain Stanley wasn’t there; yet another example that the guys had become carnival ducks over the last several months. 

 

But lately…

 

Chet, Marco, Roy, Cap – all of them – **_all_** of them had suffered injuries from explosions.  Cap and Roy had nearly been fried out of their boots.  From _power lines_ , for crying out loud… _Power lines!_

 

In the last few months, their casualty numbers seemed to have spiked into the red.  _Way_ into the red.  And it wasn’t just the numbers, it was the _kinds_ of injuries they were getting.  Cap getting blown inside that plant and injuring his knee, Marco at that flour company, Chet at the warehouse behind that dive of a hotel, Johnny almost got torched only a couple weeks ago at that chemical plant, Roy _and_ Cap at that fireworks place, before that….

 

And when Roy went down –

 

_…’Hey!  Over here!  C’mon!  On the double!  Foot that ladder for me, the second floor’s gone!’…_

 

Gage’d gotten trapped on the second floor.  _With_ a victim, no less.  He was stuck up there, watching, while Roy went tumbling off the roof.  Thank God Karen, that girl paramedic, had been there.  _If not for her, Roy would be dead right now_. 

 

 _Who’d believe it?  Both our paramedics almost got wiped out in a matter of minutes.  How the hell often does_ that _happen?  I mean, that’s why they work in pairs, isn’t it?  But no,_ both _our guys almost got their legs taken out from under ‘em._

And then Cap.  Cap!  Of all fucking people.  _Cap!_   At that TA, last week.  When that power line hit the fence and him, the stupid jackass, leaning on the car like that when he _knew_ that line was loose.  Damn fool idiot.

 

Mike pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

_Enough is enough._

_Who’s it gonna be next?  When are the odds gonna tilt?_

_…And who’s not gonna come back when they do…?_

 

Mike huffed a breath, tightened his fingers around the duffle handles and glumly moved through the swing doors to the locker room.

 

* * *

 

 

\---   _[Two weeks later]   --_

 

 

**|| |  Shock Wave  | ||**

 

**< 4:03 am  >**

 

The tones dropped in the dark of night, flooding the dorm with light and careening six firemen out of a dead sleep. 

 

_“Station 51, Unknown type rescue.  Crossroads bar.  583 Alamo Avenue.  5-8-3 Alamo.  Cross street, Shield.  Time out: 4:03.”_

 

Mike blearily donned his turnouts, mind still cavitating with dream, and he rushed out to Big Red.

 

\--

 

The flashing lights reflected off the walls outside the bar.  Mike rubbed his eyes while he, Chet and Marco waited in the rig.  The chilly breeze blew the ugly stench of stale beer, rancid urine and old vomit straight at them.  Stoker wrinkled his nose and fanned the air with his turnouts to propel away the putrid odor.

 

Marco sleepily muttered something that Mike didn’t quite catch, but evidently it got Chet’s sleepy attention.  “Ask ‘em what happened when they come out.” 

 

“ _You_ ask ‘em.  I just want to go back to bed,” Marco yawned.

 

“I can’t ask ‘em Marc, they’ll be on your side of the rig.”

 

Mike peeked into the rearview mirror and muted a yawn as Roy followed Johnny out of the bar with their equipment.  And no patient.

 

 _Okay, I’ll ask._  “Well, what was it?” Mike asked, both relieved it was a short call and annoyed that they were awakened in the middle of the night for a seemingly nothing run.

 

“Ahh, some spaced-out dame,” Johnny casually answered and he and Roy continued on toward the Squad.

 

Blink,

blink.

 

_That’s…it?  That’s all it was?_

 

_Some…spaced-out dame?_

 

“Good.  We can go back to the station and get some shut-eye,” Chet’s voice strained as he stretched. 

 

Roy’s and John’s voices stretched away toward the Squad…

 

 

                                        …stretched into the shadows…

 

                             … _where_ _something shifted…_

 

             In the nadir of the night

 

                                           In the black

 

                  In the dark

                                                                                     

 

                                                                                                a silence

 

                                                         a breath

 

                                                a sigh

         

 

_Ahh some spaced-out dame_

         

                            where an _engine revved_

_tires squealed_

_scream—, shriek—_

****

****

**_Gage!_ **

   

The horrific crunch of metal pummeling flesh was sickeningly audible from inside the Engine cab, freezing every nerve as his stomach dropped to the floor…

 

_No…_

 

By sheer training, his mind somehow detached long enough to get the make of the car and the license plate: GTA. 

 

 _G-T-A_ …

 

But as the entire company of Station 51 erupted into trauma mode, his world morphed and wrinkled, his vision tunneled as  

 

the seconds…………………………

 

….………………………....slowed.

 

……………………………...…Roy……………

 

……………………………moving………..

 

……………………..calling............

 

     ……....scared………….

 

………………’You okay…?’…….

 

…………....’Trauma box!’…

 

                        ….’What the hell happened…?’

 

…’Johnny…?’

 

                   Trailing colors……...swirling lines…

 

                                       colliding……………. writhing………

 

His senses sideswiped in ugly, distorted reflections…

 

_‘Foot that ladder for me, the second floor’s gone!’_

_‘Chet, come on in here with the line!’_

 

_‘…We have a man down at this fire…!...’_

 

“Anybody get the license plate?”  Officer Vince Howard had later asked.

 

He’d shaken the images from his head.  “I did,” he’d replied, clearing his throat to camouflage the quivering of his voice.  His stomach swished the bile around, the acid making him queasy.

 

_Squeal…!_

_Crunch…!_

 

“You’re my hero, Mike.” Vince whipped out his notebook, “Alright, tell me what you saw.”

 

“It was a custom plate.  Just three letters.  G. T. A.”

 

“G. T. A,” Vince repeated. 

 

He’d watched as Vince had written down his description of the car on his pad, the top of the pencil tracing tiny circles and lines in the crisp night air.  A peaceful night shattered by the pummeling of flesh and the shrill squeal of ti – “You sure about the license plate?”  Vince had asked again.

 

He’d shifted his weight to conceal his internal jump at Vince’s voice.  “Positive.”

 

“How positive are you?”  Vince aimed a skeptical eye at the engineer.

 

His eyes narrowed.  “Get. That. Asshole.”

 

Vince’s eyebrows had risen at the taller man’s crisp words and firm tone and nodded as he put it together.  “We’ll do everything we can.  I promise you.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

**< 4:36 am  >**

 

Only someone who knew him well would’ve noticed the slight hesitation in his movements as he bent down to retrieve the trauma box...  

 

_…TiresSquealingCrushingBoneBodyFlying’TraumaBox…!’_

 

He shook his head to silence the echoes of the chaos that had blindsided them all, tumbling them out of the stillness when Gage’s body rag-dolled over the hood…

 

“LA, Squad 51, 10-8 to Rampart.”

 

Cap’s firm voice masked the shock that had taken hold of the engineer. 

 

Of all of them.

 

Mike set the trauma box in the Squad’s compartment and headed for the relative solace of the Engine.  He settled behind the wheel and put a hand on his left leg and pressed down hard, trying to still its erratic shaking.  Why the adrenaline felt the need to flush itself into _one leg_ was a mystery.  Why couldn’t his _hands_ shake?  _Why his left leg_?  On one hand, it was just as well.  It’d be hidden under the dash in the pre-dawn darkness and it was on the other side of the Officer’s Seat and Cap’s all-noticing gaze.  Still, he felt so ridiculous.  _One of these days, I gotta ask Roy and John about this_ …

 

Mike breathed out hard and his shoulders sagged.  _Fuck. Fuck!  Sonofabitch Fuck!  This is bullshit.  _

_‘…Respond an ambulance!…’_

_‘…How ya doin’ babe, you get the fire knocked down?...... Yeah, Cap…’_

_‘…LA, Engine 51, We’ve got a man down at this fire…’_

_‘…C’mon!  On the double!  Foot that ladder for me, the second floor’s gone!…’_

_‘…Johnny?  Are you okay?  Are ya hurt…?’_

_…Gage!_

_This shit’s gotta stop; it’s gotta stop…_

 

Mike adjusted the collar on his turnout coat to keep his hands busy and breathed hard to keep the growing nausea at bay.   It wasn’t working.  He needed to get to a latrine and _fast_ … His impatient gaze turned outside to check on the whereabouts of the crew.  Faint relief tingled through him as he saw Cap finally making his way back to the Engine, but it stumbled and lurched when Cap opened the cab door yet remained on firm ground, eyes lingering on the scene.  Marco was gathering up something off the ground.  Irritated, Mike’s finger tapped impatiently on the steering wheel.  _Guys, c’mon, hurry it up_ …  He shifted in his seat in a vain attempt to soothe the acid in his stomach that was burning, churning, boiling upwards...

 

Outside, Cap stood with his hand on the open door of the cab, watching Chet in the Squad take off after the ambulance as he waited for Marco to board Big Red.  

 

Once Marco was aboard, Captain Stanley wearily hoisted himself up.  He ungraciously tossed his helmet onto the dash, shattering the peacefulness with a clattering _thud_ , plunked himself heavily into his seat, then grabbed the radio, “LA, Engine 51.  Station 51 unavailable ‘til shift change.”

 

_“Engine 51, 10-4.  LA clear.”_

 

Cap set the radio in the casing, let out a long breath and ran a hand through his hair.  “Michael, take us home, pal,” he ordered, his hand dropping to his lap with as much weariness as his voice carried and he settled back against the seat, clearly spent.

 

Mike swiveled his head forward to see the Squad and ambulance lights flying down the road into the far unlit unknown. 

 

_…tires squealing…_

_…body tumbling…_

_‘…What the hell happened…?’_

_‘…Johnny?  Are you alright?  Can you hear me?...’_

 

_…Gage!_

 

His stomach burned.

 

“Mike?”

 

Blinking himself into awareness, Stoker turned to see Cap’s concerned expression. 

 

“You alright?” 

 

He absently nodded then instantly regretted doing so; the smallest movement of his head caused the acid to swell up and burn his throat.  Forcing himself to swallow, he winced at the sudden rush of nausea _that_ caused and clenched his turning stomach.  Hoping hand movement would still the trembling queasiness, he willed his leg to stop shaking and moved Big Red into motion.

 

And like Big Red, his stomach lurched forward…

 

His belly tightened in sickening waves, dizziness lightened his head and saliva filled his mouth.  Mike suddenly yanked Big Red across the empty, narrow street and he barely engaged the parking brake before he flew out the door, slipped down and landed hard on one knee to retch violently on the sidewalk.

 

“Mike!”  With equal celerity, Cap flew out of the cab, swung around the door and rushed to his engineer’s side.  “Mike?”

 

He continued to retch, unable to control the spasms in his gut.  


Cap glanced up to see a twisted look of disgust on Lopez’s face as he’d slid down off the jump seat and stopped abruptly to peer at the underside of his shoe.  “Marco, grab the reel line,” Cap gestured as he skedaddled a knee out of Stoker’s next line of fire.

 

Lopez flew into motion and chocked Big Red’s wheels.  After scraping off his shoe, Marco clambered up to the cab to put the pump in gear.  Finally, he reached up and grabbed the reel line and washed down the sidewalk. 

 

And his shoe.

 

Cap grabbed Mike’s forehead and shoulder, facing him toward the street as the engineer leaned forward in another round of heaving.

 

Afterwards, Mike breathed heavily as the nausea abated and he shakily rolled back on his heels, coughing, the back of his hand wiping spittle.

 

Cap’s hand was on his shoulder, pulling him.  “Siddown, right here.  Come over here,” Cap guided him away from the spray of Marco’s cleaning efforts.  “You alright?”

 

He nodded then spit into the water stream a few times, disgust rolling across his face.  He hated puking, absolutely hated it.  _Everything gets stuck in your throat, your nose, and it burns and_ sits _there and you can taste it and smell it and it makes you gag all over again_ … 

 

He shuddered and spat again.

 

A canteen found its way in his vision and he threw Lopez a wordless look of thanks.  He took a long sip, swilled, and spat it back out to the street.  He was sweltering in his turnouts, the sweat dripping off his forehead.  The night air was chilly.

 

Cap’s vise grip was on his arm, like he could single-handedly stop Mike’s whole body from shaking.  “Think you can make it back to the barn?”

 

He took a few shuddering breaths, internally assessed then nodded.

 

Cap’s voice strained as he stood up.  “Okay.  C’mon,” he gently tugged at the engineer.

 

With some effort, he followed after his captain, feeling shaky on wobbly legs and a sore knee.  Automatically, he reached for the driver’s side cab door, but felt Cap’s firm grip squeeze a little, his turnout coat tightening underneath his arms as his captain carefully pulled him back. 

 

“No.  No.  Here we go.  Other side…” Captain Stanley steered his still-queasy engineer to the Officer’s Seat when his nose wrinkled from a particular, lingering odor. 

 

Cap put Mike at arm’s length, quickly inspected him then gestured over to Marco who promptly trained the water on the engineer and washed down Mike’s turnouts.

 

Cap guided the dripping Stoker, who still looked green around the gills, and helped him inside.  Taking over driver duties, Captain Stanley waited for Marco to remove the chocks and shut off the water before he geared down the pump.  “Marco, just stash the line, we’ll fix it at the station.  Keep an eye on Stoker, okay pal?”

 

“Sure thing, Cap,” Marco replied as he climbed aboard.

 

Cap turned to his woozy engineer. “Now, the minute you think you need to go again, you _tell_ me.”

 

Mike nodded briefly, his concentration focused on his breathing to keep his nausea firmly at bay.

 

“Alright, boys, here we go.” 

 

And with the sing-song, metallic squeal of brakes releasing, Captain Stanley drove his crew home.

 

* * *

 

 

**|| |  |   Sonic Velocity   |  |  ||**

 

** < 4:49 am >**

 

Marco slipped off the Engine and trudged sluggishly toward the dayroom, his feet shuffling along the concrete floor of the apparatus bay. 

 

Mike remained unmoving in the Officer’s Seat.  Elbows on his knees, the engineer sat hunched and still, eyes closed, fingers loosely steepled against his face, covering his nose.

 

Cap turned and opened the cab door to climb down, but glanced over his shoulder to check his second-in-command.  Eyes dropped to the seat as Mike made no acknowledgement that they were back at quarters.  Lips pressed together, Captain Stanley sighed to himself and his head cocked back toward the steering wheel.  As he made to step out, a car revved past the station.  His eyes automatically looked up through the windshield toward the lit sidewalk, empty roadway and the dark expanse of the refinery across the street…

 

_A peal of tires._

_The crunch of flesh against metal._

_Roy.  Scared._

_…’Trauma box!...’_

_…’Johnny?  Are you alright?_

_Can you hear me?’…_

_…’What the hell happened?’…_

 

Realization slammed into Hank Stanley and his gaze whipped back toward Stoker’s still form.  Stanley’s eyes slid back toward the steering wheel then back out toward the street as his mind pieced the scene together behind furrowed brows.

 

 Oh.  My.  God…  _Son of a bitch…_

 

Cap eyed Stoker again then he hesitated for several beats, his mind working on the best approach.  He slipped out of the cab and made his way to the Officer’s side.  He opened the door just as Stoker shifted an arm down to cover his abdomen, a grimace darkening his features.  A moan. 

 

“Come on outta there, Mike.  Let’s get you cleaned up.”  Cap offered a hand to the nauseated engineer.

 

Mike warily made his way down, dismissing Cap’s silent offer of help.  Acid spiked up and burned his throat, but, somehow, he kept his stomach in check.  Hunched over, he queasily made his way to the latrine.

 

**< 4:58 am  > **

 

Marco gulped a glass of water.  He poured out the last drops, rinsed the cup, set it in the drainer and leaned his sagging body on the counter as if too exhausted to make it to the table.  He bowed his head and rubbed his eyes.  “I can’t believe this is happening.  Cap did you see the accident?”

 

Marco glanced over when he was met with silence. 

 

Cap was reaching up and taking a cup out from the cupboard, his face impassive, dark circles framing half-lidded eyes.

 

“Cap?”

 

“Hm?  Sorry, Marco.  Did you say something?”

 

Marco paused for a moment, considering whether to ask the question again.  How ever _he_ was feeling, Captain Stanley must be feeling it even more acutely.  “Did you see the accident?”

 

Hank grabbed the coffee tin, dug out the measuring spoon and began filling the pot.  “No, I didn’t.  Vince and I heard tires squealing and saw Roy running out into the street.  Thought maybe a pedestrian got hit.  Wasn’t till we got around the Squad that –” the spoon dropped into the tin as Cap rocked back onto one leg, one hand stretching him away from the counter, the other pinching the bridge of his nose.  Several deep breaths later, his shoulders sagged, he straightened up and he took up the spoon, again.  “That I realized what’d really happened.”  He cleared his throat.

 

“Cap?  Are you alright?”  Marco’s soft voice was edged with palpable worry.

 

Captain Stanley tossed the spoon back in with the grounds and set the pot on the stove, “Yeah.  I’m fine.”  Hank turned to his junior crew member, concern written on his features.  “How are _you_ holding up?”

 

Lopez nodded slightly then moved to the table.  “I’m okay, Cap.  It’s just…” he sighed heavily and stared at the easy chair across the room.

 

“It’s just what?”

 

Hands spread out in hopeless irritation.  “We’re _firemen_ , Cap!  We’re supposed to get injured from burns or falls or… smoke.  We’re not supposed to be…target practice for some drunken _estupido_ _pendejo_!”  Marco’s eyes widened in alarm and his expression turned sheepish.  “Sorry, Cap.”

 

“Well, _none_ of you are _really_ supposed to get hurt _at all_ , but, I know what you mean.  You say it all you want, Marco.  You won’t hear any complaints from me.”  Stanley patted Lopez’s shoulder. 

 

Lopez picked at his fingernails.  “Like I said, I’m okay, Cap.  Just…tryin’ to put it together in my head, you know?  We should be back in our bunks catching up on our zzz’s.  Instead, we’re talking about Gage getting run over by some idiot who was probably drunk.”

 

Captain Stanley tilted his head forward and rubbed the back of his neck.  It was about time he went to check up on Stoker.  “Do me a favor, Marco, get John’s and Roy’s things together and strip their bunks, okay?  Mine, too, while you’re at it and yours, if you want.  And keep an eye on the coffee.”  _That oughta keep your mind busy for a little while._

 

“Sure thing, Cap,” Marco answered wearily and pushed his chair back.  The phone on the wall came into his vision as he stood up.  “I wish that phone would ring telling us he’s gonna be okay,” he said softly, staring at it as if willing it to do his bidding.

 

“You and me, both,” Hank gently replied.

 

The phone rang and both men jumped.

 

Cap quickly stepped over and picked it up. “Station 51, Captain Stanley…Chet, thank God, how is he?...Uh huh…Okay.  Well, listen, tell Roy the Squad is stood down till the end of shift so he can stay there, if he wants.  Bring the Squad on back, unless you want to stay there, okay, pal? ….Alright.”

 

Hank turned a surprised eye on his lineman, “That was incredible, Marco.  Now can you make the tones go off when HQ is on the phone?” 

 

“No way.  You’re on your own with that one, Cap.”

 

“Hm.  Figures.” Cap relayed the news from Chet that Johnny was getting X-rayed and that there may be internal injuries. 

 

Marco looked dejected.  “I suppose it was too much to hope for, with just a broken leg.  Damn…”

 

“Yeah, l know,” Cap sighed.  “Well let’s hope for the best.  I need to go find Mike.”

 

“Okay.  I’ll start in on the dorm.”

 

“Thanks, Marco.” 

 

Marco headed left for the dorm while Captain Stanley headed straight for the locker room.

 

\---

 

Mike came out from the shower and toweled off.  After changing into his civilian jeans, he trudged out, rubbing his hair dry with his towel…and stopped dead at the line of lockers that faced him.  Roy’s in the corner.  Johnny’s next to his.   

 

_TiresSquealingBoneCrushing…_

 

Chet’s locker…Marco’s….

 

All of ‘em.  Every single one of them.  These men who’re _his job_ to protect, to make sure they come away in one piece.  They’d all taken a hit.  One by one.

 

He watched them each go down…not knowing if he’d watch them get back up.

 

Mike settled his face against his hands while sleepiness and shock drifted along his consciousness.

 

That repugnant, familiar feeling was coursing through his gut.  Again.  Stoker swallowed hard and shifted in the seat as if to distract it, ward it off, veer its course away from him. 

 

He hated this shit.  _Hated_ it. 

 

‘… _Trauma Box!..._ ’

 

Again. 

 

_Fucking again._

 

_When’s this shit gonna stop?_

 

He’d thought Captain Stanley’s Electric Shock Flying Sprawl was the end of the line of 51s string of mishaps, lately.  But, no.  It had to be Gage, tonight.

 

_Fuck and just… fuck!_

 

Heat and mist and the fragrant scent of soap and shampoo lingered in the steamy air as Cap walked in.  “Mike?”  Cap looked up and down in the bathroom area, but saw no sign of his engineer.  Stanley slowly strolled to the locker area and peeked his head around the corner to Mike’s locker.

 

The tall engineer was sitting shirtless on the bench with his elbows on his knees, head in his hands and his towel over one shoulder.  His hair was wet and mussed and dripping occasional drops on his bare back.

 

Cap gently knocked and leaned against the corner of the row of lockers.  “Mike?  How’re you doin’?” 

 

Stoker raised his head then slowly uncurled his frame to sit up as if waking from hibernation and he grabbed the towel edge and wiped his face.  _Just peachy, Cap.  Seeing Gage flying over the hood of a car was just the thing I needed after watching your ass get fried and everyone else blown outta their boots.  So, yeah, doing real fucking well._

 

Stanley watched his reticent engineer and sighed to himself.  “Listen, Mike.  Chet just called.”

 

Mike stopped breathing, body frozen in mid-motion.

 

“Gage is undergoing X-rays at the moment, so they don’t know the full extent of the damage, yet.”

 

Mike slowly closed his eyes and allowed himself to breathe, just a little.  He quietly listened to Cap’s report with trepidation, waiting for some horrific shoe to fall. 

 

A knock sounded on a locker behind the two men, startling Mike.  His momentary flinch didn’t go unnoticed by his captain and Stanley turned to see Lopez in the locker room entryway.

 

“Cap, coffee’s ready.  Mike, I can make you some tea, if you’d like.  Still got some of that mix I gave Chet, last week.”

 

Mike assessed the condition of his inner equilibrium and the ramifications and consequences of all possible options.  He decided a Marco Lopez medicinal intervention now was better than a Cap lecture about going to the doctor, later, and he turned around.  “Yeah.  Okay.  Thanks.”

 

“Sure thing,” Marco answered and left.

 

Stanley let out a small breath.  “Mike?  You feeling alright?”

 

Stoker rose from the bench and donned a white undershirt and his uniform blue jacket.  He closed his locker, hard.  “Yeah,” he answered curtly.  He flicked his captain a steely look and brushed past him and headed out into the apparatus bay, the door swinging wide in his wake.

 

Worry darkened Cap’s eyes as they followed after Stoker.  Hank leaned against the lockers and steepled his fingers over his nose, his eyes closed in thought. 

 

 _‘…Hank, there are going to be times when your crew are going to fall apart.  The worse they seem, the more you need to keep a cool head.  They’re counting on you to keep them together…’_  Hank sighed.  _What a helluva mess_ …

 

Several minutes later, Captain Stanley wearily traipsed into the apparatus bay in the wake of his engineer in time to hear the familiar guttural rumble of the Squad in the driveway.  Hank eyed the rig backing in and he went to meet the last of his Engine crew.  “Well that was fast.” 

 

“Helps when there’s no traffic at this hour,” Chet replied as he slipped out of the Squad.

 

“That’s true,” Hank muttered.

 

Chet banged the door shut and Cap followed him into the dayroom.

 

Kelly lumbered in to find his best friend hunkered at one corner of the table near the stove, hands around his mug like winter cocoa.  Chet circled around Lopez and pulled out a chair on the other side of Marco.  “Any new information?”  Chet quietly asked.

 

“Nope,” Cap answered.  “Go ahead and grab some coffee, there, pal.”

 

“Thanks, Cap,” he replied, moving toward the counter. 

 

“How’re you holding up?”  Stanley asked as Kelly returned to the table with a steaming mug.

 

Chet let out a breath.  “I dunno, Cap.  I mean, that was just the damndest thing.  Of all the stupid ways for something like that to happen.  Did anyone actually see the accident?” 

 

“Mike did.  Got the license plate and everything,” Marco answered.

 

“Oh, well that’s good.  Maybe they can get that guy.  Man, I can’t believe he just fled the scene like that.  What a _jerk!_ ”

 

“I’ll bet he figured he was no match for all of _us_ ,” Marco replied, _machismo_ dripping from his tone.

 

“Damn straight,” Cap muttered to himself.  “How’s Roy doing?”

 

Kelly sipped at his coffee and waggled his head slightly.  “He seems to be holding up okay.  He’s pretty worried, though.”

 

“Chet, did you see anything?” Cap asked.

 

“Not really.  I heard a car speed past and then tires squealing, but by the time I looked, Johnny’d already gotten hit,” Chet replied.

 

“Okay.  Marco, are you done with the dorm?”

 

Lopez started to rise out of his seat.  “Not yet, Cap.  I came in to get Mike’s tea started.”

 

“Don’t worry about it.  There’s no rush.  Just take your time.  And since Kelly’s here, two of you go ahead and do the Squad’s log book, alright?  You can get the sheets out of the Squad.  And clean out the cab of the Engine and don’t forget to reload the reel line, okay?”

 

Lopez nodded and reseated himself.  “Okay, Cap.”

 

“Why, what’s with the Engine?”  Chet leaned in.

 

“You don’t want to know,” Marco grimaced.

 

The phone rang again and Hank stepped over to pick it up.  “Station 51, Captain Stanley….Roy, thank God.  What’s the verdict?... Oh no.  How long does that sort of thing take?…Oh, boy…How’re you holding up?...Well, look, why don’t you stay there, if that’s what you want to do.  I’ve stood the Squad down till shift change.  We’ll all stop by first thing in the morning.   We can figure out how to get your car to you, later, how does that sound?... Okay…Yeah, please do…Don’t worry about it, just call, okay?... Alright, we’ll see you in a while…Alright, bye.”

 

“What’d he say?”  Lopez asked and was unsuccessful in stifling a yawn.

 

Cap relayed the news about the internal bleeding and impending surgery John was being wheeled into.  As the news settled into their thoughts the teapot whistled.  Cap gestured for Marco to remain in his chair while he made up the tea for Stoker.  “I’ll take this to Mike.”

 

“Okay, Cap.”  Marco hugged his hands around his coffee mug tighter, as if warding off the chill of the night.

 

* * *

 

 

**|||  |   |   Cavitation   |   |  |||**

**< 5:40 am>**

 

Captain Stanley could hear the tune coming out of the cab of the truck as he made his way across the parking lot.

 

“And you said you was never intending  
To break up our scene in this way  
But there ain't any use in pretending  
It could happen to us any day  
  
How long has this been going on?  
How long has this been going on?”*

 

Mike set his elbows on his pick-up truck’s back gate, put his head in his hands. Both hands absently scratching the back of his head.

 

_….the crunch of metal pummeling flesh…_

_…Johnny’s body tumbling over the hood…_

_…Roy…scared…’You okay…?’_

 

Out of everything – **that** _– that_ was what haunted him the most. 

 

He’d never heard keep-his-cool, unflappable Roy ever sound like that. 

 

Hysterical.

 

Scared.

 

…’ _Johnny?  Are you alright?  Can you hear me…?’_

 

A rattled Roy rattled _him_. 

 

Stoker shifted, steepled his fingers over his nose and breathed out, trying to drown out the sound of Roy’s fear.  Of metal against flesh.  Of the whole damn mess…

 

He heard the crunch of shoes growing louder then come to a crunchy stop next to him.  The small clatter of porcelain against metal clinked in his ears as something was placed in the bed of the truck.  He smelled the spicy aroma of ginger tea on the cool breeze.

 

“Mike?  Got Marco’s tea for you, here.” 

 

Mike opened his eyes to confirm the presence of the steaming tea then turned his gaze to the cars streaming by on the 405. 

 

Pebbles crunched under Cap’s feet as he shifted his weight.  “Roy just called.  They’re wheeling John into surgery right now.  Said he’s bleeding internally.  Once they get the bleeding under control – if they can – they’ll set his leg.  If…we’re still on shift, he’ll call us when John’s out of surgery and stabilized.  Figured we could all stop by after shift and get Roy’s car to him, somehow.”

 

Stoker heard the rush of blood in his ears, eyes catching the solemn blinking of a red light on some distant tower… red like the siren lights…like the blood bleeding into Gage’s abdominal cavity…

 

_‘…Johnny?  Can you hear me?...’_

 

Internal bleeding.  Figured that to be the case, the way his limp body tumbled heedlessly over the car. 

 

Figured for sure Gage was a goner…

 

…like when Cap got blown across the room when he was trying to close that valve …

 

…like Chet when he was blown off the stairs at that warehouse…

 

…when Roy hit that power line and rolled off the roof…

 

… when that train door exploded on him…

 

…when he and Cap went down in that fireworks factory…

 

…when Marco had half the flour company blown up in his face…

 

…when Johnny decided to get barbequed at that chemical plant…

 

…when Cap got fried from that power line…

 

His entire company; his entire damned shift.  Too damned close and too many times.  And he _saw_ almost every one of them; every last one of them over…what?  The past eight, nine months?  All within the last year, at least.  Watched them all go down.  All of them…

 

“Mike, did you hear what I said?”

 

Mike’s eyes shifted to catch Cap in his peripheral vision; Cap was barely visible against the glowing echo of the city lights.

 

_Yeah, Cap.  Heard everything.  Every one; every ‘man down’ call, every request for an ambulance, every ‘Code I’.  Every. Fucking. One._

 

Stoker turned back to the 405 and he blinked against the breeze.

 

_…guttural engine revving…_

_………………..car peeling out……_

_…………tires screeching on asphalt…._

 

          Squeal!

 

          Crack!

 

_A vision of turnout, a body….haphazardly, awkwardly…. flung unnaturally, grotesquely…through the air…._

 

“Yeah, Cap.  I heard you.  Number ten, loud and clear.”

 

Cap hesitated, trying – and failing - to follow Mike’s answer.  “I beg your pardon?”

 

Stoker threw his captain an angry look.  “We’re at ten, Cap.  In eight or nine months.  That’s more than one serious injury a month.  I gotta wonder if that’s some kind of record,” he seethed.  “This is the tenth time our guys have gone down or almost gotten creamed,” Mike continued.  “Maybe even more than that.  I’m not talking cuts or scrapes.  I’m talking hospital stays and days or weeks outta work.  Kinda like _you_ , coupla weeks ago with that _power line_ ,” Stoker angrily spat.  “When I had to call a Code I.  On _you_ ,” Mike nearly scolded.  “Code I.  For capital _fucking_ _idiot_.”

 

Stanley’s mind had initially frozen at Mike’s snowballing tirade, but he’d quickly recognized the need to simply let Mike talk.  His mind tripped and fumbled, now, at Stoker’s last words and uncharacteristic vehemence.  “Hold on,” he reeled, eyebrows furrowing.  His head pitched forward as his hand curled to his chest.  “Are you _pissed_ at _me_ —?”

 

“You _bet_ I am!  _Dammit_ , Cap, you _knew_ that line was down!  And you’re leaning on that car like you had a fork in a socket.  That’s the kind of mistake a _boot_ pulls, Cap.  Not someone who’s been in the service for fourteen years.  Don’t know what the _hell_ you were thinking,” Mike muttered the last between clenched teeth.

 

Captain Stanley fought to regain his mental footing, which seemed to have slipped several feet since he’d walked over.  He understood Stoker could be, had been, was, is upset by the injuries he’d cataloged, but Cap had had no inkling that Mike’s anger was so pointedly aimed at _him_.  His captain’s mind had heard the fear under the anger and it began to sink in, this new perspective on Mike’s world.  His captain gets knocked off his feet, quickly followed by a front row seat to Gage’s body tumbling off the hood of someone’s car. 

 

He could hear the snorting huff of Mike’s indignation.  Cap sighed heavily, laid his hands on Mike’s shoulders, and gently shook him.  “I’m sorry, babe.  Guess it was just one of those things.” 

 

“Uh-huh.  John and Roy were sick with worry.  Even though they tried to tow the ‘he’s gonna be okay’ line, I could tell they were shook up, so it was obvious it was pretty damned serious.”  Mike shook his head then glared at his captain, “I’ve known _ten-year olds_ with better common sense.”  He could feel Cap’s strong hands and fingers gripping his shoulders.  His anger ebbed at Cap’s friendly jostling but it began to expose the raw fear he’d been keeping buried.

 

In the pre-dawn dimness, Mike could just make out Cap’s widened eyes and slight, whimsical nod in silent agreement.   Mike felt Cap’s grip lift from him and heard pebbles crunch as Cap shifted and settled his arms on the gate of Mike’s truck.  That loss of contact stroked a sadness in Mike that surprised him.  He peered closer at Captain Stanley, the muted light providing a faint glow on Cap’s face.  Encompassed within the surreal and disturbing wake of the events of the night, wistfulness pervaded Stoker’s thoughts and the _What Ifs_ slithered in.  Memories echoed in a cascade of moments and conversations past.  Eyes locked on his captain, Mike noted, as if for the first time, the silhouette of Cap’s jaw, the outline of his face, his hair that mirrored the surrounding night, the slight crinkle of his eye as a memory iced the warmth from his eyes, the collar of his blue jacket that touched just under his ear, could hear the faint hush of his breathing – as if sealing him into his memory, freezing this moment in time.  _Just…in case_ … the thought cruelly slipped into Mike’s consciousness and he immediately crushed it, terrified of the reality it offered.  The line drawn by Fate between what was, Now, right here, right in front of him, and what might otherwise have been was too thin a line… _Way, way_ too thin.  Tears welled in Mike’s eyes - the space inhabited by this man before him, living, breathing, warm and alive, full of sound and movement had very nearly become, _by inches_ , a hollow, aching and silent emptiness bereft of his presence. 

 

Cap Stanley’s eyes remained downcast, staring into the bed of the truck, his brow furrowed, lost in memory.  “Would it help you to know my wife hasn’t let me touch anything electrical in the house since I left the hospital?”

 

Mike blinked back his tears, mentally vice-gripping the reality before him rather than the nightmare in his head.  He cleared his throat.  “With good reason.  You’d probably short everything out.”

 

Cap chortled and his eyes widened as he nodded slightly, “Tis probably true.” 

 

In the near-dark, Stoker stole one last look at his captain, took a deep breath and rubbed his face before he looked back at the 405. 

 

Captain Stanley turned a sidelong eye at his engineer.  He hunched his shoulders and adjusted his arms against the tailgate of the truck then followed Mike’s gaze to the 405, his concern etched on his features.  “How long has all this been eating at you, Mike?”

 

A beat. 

 

A faint whiff of garbage on the breeze. 

 

A distant air-horn on the 405 that dropped in stepped tones and faded as it sped away toward the lightening horizon in the east.

 

“Since that gas explosion that gave you that knee injury.  Since Marco almost got canned at that flour mill.  Since Roy got electrocuted off the roof.  Since Chet went flying at that warehouse.  Since you got _stupid_ with that live wire at that car accident.” 

 

“I’m sorry, pal,” Cap offered as the two men settled shoulder to shoulder.  “Why didn’t you come and _talk_ to me?” he asked, one arm fully out-stretched off the tailgate as he swiveled in place to square off with his engineer.

 

“Because you can’t know there’s a pattern until there is one.”

 

Cap’s eyebrow spiked in a knowing expression but that quickly faded and he sighed heavily.  Despite the debriefings he’d held after all those incidents, apparently his reticent engineer had gone under his radar.  _Damn it_.  He should’ve paid more attention.  Should’ve been more on top of it.  He’d allowed Mike’s generally easy-going nature to lull him into a false sense of security, that Stoker was immune to everything the world could throw at him.  _Didn’t mean to let you down, pal…_

 

“I don’t like this, Cap,” Mike continued.  “I don’t like being left on the sidelines, watching everyone else get hit.  I’d never thought about it when I was a lineman.  But, I’ve been watching everyone drop like flies, lately.  I’m really starting to hate being an engineer.”

 

Hank nodded in empathy.  “Yeah.  I’ve been there, Mike.  I know what you’re going through,” he breathed.

 

“I know you do.  So, don’t you have any salient words of wisdom?”

 

“Yeah.  Become a captain.”

 

Stoker speared Hank with an irritated expression, “You’re about as helpful as a Chet wisecrack.”

 

Cap stifled a smile and stretched, his hands at his ears, his voice straining.  “Yeah, well, it worked for me.”

 

Mike made a face, “Some therapist _you_ make.  Of all the fire stations in all the counties, you had to walk into mine.”

 

Hank laughed out loud.

 

The smile lapsed into a serious expression and Stanley settled back on the tailgate.  “This job’s a bitch, Mike.  There’s no gettin’ around it.  And there are times – _have_ been times and _will_ be times – that it’s gonna get to us.  That, we engineers – for all we can do – can only watch when our guys get hurt.  Now, all that aside, as a _captain_ , it’s _my_ job to keep that from happening.  Be that as it may, this job requires teamwork to keep everyone safe; it’s a two-way street.  They trust us to get the water to them, but we have to know that the guys going in have the training and wherewithal to make the right judgments to keep _themselves_ out of danger.  Like I said, it’s a team effort.  But this job is inherently _dangerous_ and every so often, something’s gonna happen that’s not under our control.  Like tonight.  The trick is not allowing that event to define that moment for us.  It’s how we react, how we deal with the situation after the fact that we need to focus on.  For instance, what did you do the _moment_ Gage got hit?”

 

Mike fought through the ghastly images of Johnny’s body tumbling and being carried along the hood of the car.  “I got the make of the car and the license plate.”

 

“Precisely.  You didn’t just space out like that ole dame in the bar, didja?”  Cap thumbed behind him.  “Or scream and run around in hysterics?”  Cap had to stifle a smile at the image of one Mike Stoker running amok in the streets. 

 

“Of course not.”

 

“Alright then, why not?”

 

Mike balked at the absurdity of the question, but quickly ferreted out his captain’s thought process.  “Because that wouldn’t have been of any help to anybody.”

 

Cap’s raised eyebrow and expectant expression looked back at him.  

 

The tall engineer sighed and nodded.  “Thing is, Cap….”

 

“What?”

 

“It’s like water hammer.  All these injuries seem to keep getting worse and worse.  Like they’ve been building up.” 

 

Hank Stanley hung his head, chuckling to himself and shaking his head in disbelief.

 

“What’s so funny?”  Mike couldn’t help feel just a little indignant that his analogy was so amusing.

 

Cap straightened up and rubbed his eyes, still chuckling.  “I remember one of the worst runs I ever had.  I suppose I can laugh about it now, but boy…”

 

Stoker hedged for a moment.  “Water hammer?”

 

Hank’s eyes widened as he stared out across the parking lot.  “Yeah.”

 

“ _You_ had _water hammer_?  You never told us that.”

 

“The one and _only_ time.  Under _McConnike_ , no less.”  Hank punctuated his annoyance with a banged fist on the tailgate.

 

“McConnike…  _Chief_ McConnike?  Don’t know him, Cap.  Just his name.”

 

“Thank your lucky stars, pal.”

 

“Real hard-ass, huh?”

 

Stanley shuddered.  “If you only knew…”

 

“I can’t believe you had a water hammer, Cap.  Of all people.”

 

“Believe it, pal.”

 

“Did you get hurt?”  Mike asked in sudden alarm, worried that Cap’s tale of woe paralleled what Johnny was going through right now.

 

“No, no.” Hank quickly reassured Stoker.  “But like you were saying, the whole damned run just went from bad to worse.”

 

Despite the gravity of the situation, Mike suddenly felt a tinge of amusement at his captain’s squirming.  “So, what happened?”  Mike shifted and leaned on the tailgate, preparing to hear a gem of his captain’s war stories.  Cap always brought up his chief’s stories, but rarely mentioned tales from his engineer days.  _Must be because of this Chief McConnike_.  Maybe he could get Chet to dig up some stuff on the guy, later.

 

“We go out to a structure fire up in the hills, I forget where it was.  Now, we’re down a man, so it’s just me, McConnike and Toby, our lineman.  We get there and there’s a bunch of looong driveways covered with all these trees and grass and all this vegetation and you can’t see the houses behind ‘em,” Hank gestured, drawing a picture of the scene in the air.

 

“So, we come up to all these trees and somewhere behind there is smoke rising into the air.  I choose one driveway that seems about right, hoping to God that _was_ the right one.  Turns out it _was_ and off we go.”

 

Stoker was leaning on the tailgate with his forearms, one ankle swiveling behind him.

 

The traffic on the 405 had grown a little as the horizon to the east lightened ever more, the gray-blue slate of dusk giving way to pale yellow.

 

“We come to a two-story house with smoke and flame showing outta the first floor.  McConnike tells Toby to pull an inch and a half and just run an exterior attack.  I pull water off the tank and had to mule almost _fifteen hundred_ feet of supply line back up the driveway to hook up to the hydrant out on the main road.” 

 

The air went out of Mike’s lungs and he rubbed his face in empathy.

 

“I hook up to the hydrant, run all the way back and was about to run Toby’s line off the hydrant.  Except, I realize, there’s almost no hydrant pressure.” 

 

Stoker’s ankle stopped swiveling and he raised himself up half a mite in anticipation of a shoe dropping. 

 

“Not only that, but the tank was only half full.  Found out later that the shift before us didn’t have time to fill it after their rubbish fire earlier that morning before our shift started and they forgot to _tell_ us.”

 

Mike dropped his forehead on his hands and shook his head.

 

“I radio this in to McConnike ‘cause he’s doin’ the 360, grab more supply line off the rig, run _back_ up the drive and spot another hydrant a little closer but in the opposite direction.  I’ve gotta run a thousand feet of supply line but I’ve gotta do it quick before the tank runs dry.  So I run the supply line down to the second hydrant, then hear explosions coming from the house.” 

 

Mike’s eyes widened while his ankle swiveled, again.

 

“As I’m hooking up the line, MConnike radios that the tank is empty and he’s yellin’ at me that the supply line should’ve been hooked up by now.  Toby’s line’s gone dry and we’ve got new reports of fire coming from the side of the house.”

 

The tall engineer took in a deep breath and held it, eyeing his captain expectantly.

 

“Truck 72 shows up, McConnike radios in that he needs exposure lines.  I hook up to the new hydrant and tell McConnike to charge the supply line.  What I _forgot_ to tell him was that the new supply line was running shorter than the first one – it’s only a thousand feet - so, obviously, he’d have less pressure than what I’d originally set up the line for.  He charges the supply line and sets up the pump for two exposure lines.”

 

Mike heaved a heavy sigh, straightened up, leaned his backside against the gate, crossed his ankles and folded his arms. 

 

“I come running back, Truck 72s handling the exposure lines.  Now, Toby’s got an inch and a half and Truck 72 ended up pulling our _two_ and a halfs” 

 

Mike’s eyes got wide, again, as he sensed the punch line coming.

 

“All of a sudden, my Engine starts cavitating.  I’m frantically lookin’ around the pump panel, trying to figure out where the pressure’s comin’ from that’s got my rig shaking like a Shake N’ Bake.  I get a frantic radio call to stop the attack line.  Toby’s been knocked clear to the ground and his line is whippin’ around like a headless snake.  I had to shut down everything.  Meanwhile, coupla the Truck guys had gone inside.  McConnike had to help get them out.  Battalion chief comes on scene, ambulance, couple of the second alarm units finally showed up.  By this time, the whole house was up in flames and the guest house behind it went up.”

 

Stoker sighed heavily, dropped his arms, and turned back to the truck, and settled his arms again on the tailgate. 

 

“55s ran new attack and exposure lines off yet another hydrant, one further down than the first one, then had to switch attack engines, because 55s had to shut down after gravel got into the pump.”

 

“Off the hydrant?”

 

“Yep.  No one had time – including me -  to flush out any of the hydrants before they charged the lines.  The whole thing just went from bad to worse.  The longer it dragged on the worse it got.  It was the kind of call that makes you learn what _not_ to do.”

 

“D’you lose the house?” Mike softly asked.

 

“Yeah.  The house, the guest house.  And one of the pet goats, I think it was.”

 

“What happened with your lineman?”

 

“Concussion and a broken rib.  Considering how that whole thing went down, he was pretty lucky.”

 

“You ever figure out what caused the water hammer?”

 

Hank took a deep breath.  “McConnike forgot to set the relief valve when he charged the exposure lines.”

 

“He didn’t just set the relief valve at the beginning?”

 

Stanley leaned his arms on the truck, again.  “He didn’t like doing it that way.  He wanted it reset everytime a new line was added.  Guess he’d been outta practice so long, he forgot.  The mains and hydrants in that area were a mess.  The hydrant had gotten a spike in pressure after the 2 ½’s had been charged.  McConnike hadn’t reset the relief valve to protect Toby’s line.  When the pressure in the main spiked poor Toby bore the brunt of it.”  

 

Mike let out a breath and looked up at the brightening sky, the promise of the sun and a new day just on the horizon.

 

“Boy, I went through that scenario over and over again, till I was sick of it, and _then_ some,” Cap said.  “Never did have another water hammer.  But that’s what we do, Mike.  We learn for the next time, ‘cause sometimes that’s all we get.”

 

“I guess that’s my problem, Cap.  We’ve done retraining, we’ve gone over the logs, we’ve debriefed. What more is there to do?  I mean, how do you deal with all of this?” 

 

“Well, then we go over them, again.  That’s the hard part, Mike.  Sometimes, despite our best efforts, things still happen.  This one is particularly hardest on _you_ , pal, ‘cause you had a front row seat.”

 

Stoker turned, “It’s not just about that, Cap.  We’ve been a crew for five years with a few injuries here and there.  Now, in the last year, all of a sudden, our guys are gettin’ bounced around and they’re having a harder time getting up.” 

 

“You don’t think I’m aware of that?”  Cap Stanley asked, straightening up from the truck, putting a foot up on the bumper and an elbow on his raised knee.  “That’s why we put in for extra training over at the yard, remember?” 

 

“Yeah, I remember.  That’s what I’m saying, Cap.  We went over all those incidents.  For all the good it did.  Our guys are still gettin’ hit.”

 

“That’s just the thing, Mike.  Training is all about minimizing, and mitigating and eliminating to some degree.  But you can’t eliminate everything.  Every situation’s different.  All the situations you talked about are different.  You mitigate one situation, all of a sudden, you’ve got an entirely different one on your hands the following week.  In our line of work, we _react_ until such time as something happens.  Then we can be proactive about it.” 

 

Mike rubbed his face, trying to take it all in.  Somehow…none of this was really helping.

 

Captain Stanley set his foot back down on the ground and leaned his elbows on Mike’s truck.  “The trick to it all is finding a way to cope.  Don’t take it as a personal vendetta against you.  It’s not a conspiracy, Mike.  It’s not a comment about you.  You get into trouble when you take it personally.  That’s when you feel helpless; don’t go down that road.  Everything is preventable but stuff still happens.  Take each incident and plan for it better.  This is a hard job, Mike.  Like I said, it is inherently _dangerous_ and by the odds, people are gonna get hurt.  That’s why we train, why we do these drills.  There will never come a time, Mike, when firefighting becomes easy and a hundred percent safe.  It’s like death and taxes.  That much we can all count on.”  


Stoker absently nodded as Cap’s thoughts filtered through his mind like water seeping through a bed of pebbles.  He understood what Cap was saying; had said.  He knew it logically, clinically, even.  Maybe he just needed to _feel_ like he wasn’t alone…

 

Mike watched a flock of homing pigeons banking in the sky among the first rays of sunshine.  “What’s the worst thing you ever saw, Cap?”

 

“My mother-in-law at our wedding,” Stanley breathed, a wide-eyed, desperate expression on his face. 

 

Despite himself, Mike snorted a laugh, covering his mouth with an open fist.

 

Cap slapped Stoker on the back, thinking maybe he’d choked.  “It’s hard to assign it all in degrees.  Some things that might seem easily dismissed end up hitting you in the gut.  The burnt corpse of a stranger might not get ya at one fire, but a woman gasping for air at the next one, might.  It’s complicated.  You never know what will trigger the most gut-wrenching response.  And someone else might be affected whereas you might not.  It’s all individual, Mike.  The one thing I _can_ tell you is not to keep it to yourself.  I try to make sure you guys know you can come to me with anything, but I realize that may not be enough.  Peer pressure can be a big problem.”

 

“We don’t rag on each other, Cap.  Not when it’s something this important.” 

 

“That’s not the kind of peer pressure I mean, Mike.  I’m talking about the kind that’s self-imposed.  Others around you factor in to how comfortable you feel about opening up.  What gets to Chet might not affect you or Roy, for instance.  But the danger comes when Chet gauges himself against you.  Because _you’re_ not affected, he might start to wonder why _he_ is.  And then he starts to worry that there’s something wrong with him, that he can’t handle it.  That’s when the fear shows up that he might get ragged on for speaking up.” 

 

“We’ve never done anything like that, Cap.  Not like that.”

 

“Well, it may seem like friendly teasing to you, but maybe not to John or, say, Marco, when something affects them.  They’re not gonna speak up otherwise they’ll get it even worse.  Everyone reacts differently, Mike.” 

 

“I know, Cap.” Mike shuffled his shoe on the gravel, as if scraping something off the bottom of it. 

 

“But there is always that fear.  Peer pressure can be very powerful, especially in this line of work.  It’s been quietly handed down firefighter to firefighter over the generations.  It’s the unspoken rule, Mike: there are certain things you can cry over and certain things you can’t.  It shouldn’t _be_ that way, but it is.  We’ve all worked other stations before we came together here at 51s and we all bring different experiences with us that have shaped how we relate to each other.  Because of that, Chet may not have an issue expressing himself but Marco might.  It’s a matter of watching out for each other and not adhering to tradition in the face of something like this.”  


Captain Stanley picked at his fingernails.  “Miller and Chief Dohm over at HQ think there’s a generational gap in training that’s starting to show up.  Either that or maybe the veterans are getting too comfortable and taking unnecessary risks.  So, we’re all trying to set up a training schedule over at the yard and downtime for a review of fireground safety regs and procedures.  It’s proving to be a logistical nightmare but Houts is adamant that this gets done.  He’s also waiting for the official release of the county’s audit of injuries and fatalities for the fire and police departments over the past two years.  Ironically, I was planning on making the announcement about the training next shift.  Anyway, if the IAFF stats are any indication, the audit from the county’s not gonna be pretty.”

 

Mike shifted his stance.  “It’s already not pretty, Cap.  Tonight makes ten serious injuries or near-misses, Cap.  In less than a year.  We’re not just talking about eating smoke or a pulled muscle.  These are trauma injuries and they’re career-ending.  Hell, they’re _life_ -ending.  Our guys have almost _died,_ Cap _._   _You_ included.”

 

Stanley eyed his engineer across his shoulder.  “You think all these injuries are my fault,” he said evenly.

 

“I’m not saying that, Cap.  But it’s been awfully damn close.  Too many times.  At some point, the odds aren’t gonna fall in our favor.  And someone’s gonna get seriously hurt again.  Or they’re not gonna come back.”

 

“We gotta re-evaluate how we do things, I agree. The guys have been getting’ knocked around, of late.  Let’s go over the runs and you can tell me what we can improve on, what can we do to mitigate the hazards and injuries.”

 

A tune was playing over the car radio, startling Mike into realizing that the radio was still on.

  
_Whenever you call me, I'll be there_  
_Whenever you want me, I'll be there_  
_Even if I have to call, I'll be there_  
_I'll be around***_

 

“Next shift, we can go over all these again, minute by minute, move by move.  Maybe we’ll find something we missed the first time around.  Maybe there’s a commonality to some of these things that we can find and eliminate.  We can do that, if you think that’ll help.”

 

 _Can’t hurt.  And maybe we will find something we missed._   Somehow, that made him feel better.  “Yeah, Cap.  It will.” 

 

“Alright, then we’ll do that.”  Cap gave a firm nod, slapped a hand gently on the tailgate, then wearily pushed off the truck to make his way inside.

 

“Cap?” 

 

Mike’s voice stayed him.  “Yeah?” Cap turned back, realizing with a pang of shame that perhaps Mike wasn’t done, yet.

 

“How are _you_ holding up?” Stoker softly asked, his expression full of affection and worry.

 

Captain Stanley was about to answer then stopped as a weight dropped in his chest.  A look of profound sadness crept across his expression, his eyes fixated on some distant point in his mind.  He hunched his shoulders and slowly stuffed his hands in his pockets.  His shoulders seemed to sag a little, the weight of command slowly becoming palpable is his bearing.  Concern clouded Cap’s eyes.  Stanley sniffed and rubbed his nose and Mike could see that tears had welled in Cap’s eyes. 

 

Mike clapped a hand on Stanley’s shoulders and squeezed. 

 

The wake-up tones sounded throughout the firehouse, echoing out into the parking lot. 

 

That seemed to wake him up a little.  Cap straightened and he seemed to be aware of his surroundings, again.  “C’mon,” he cleared his throat.  “Let’s grab Chet and Marco and go check on our wayward paramedics.  In the meantime, if you ever need to get this stuff off your chest, come _talk_ to me.  I’m not just here to look pretty, you know.”  Cap’s hands spread apart in supplication.

 

“Tell that to Roy.  He’s had his eye on you for quite a while,” Mike needled deadpan as he locked steps with his captain.

 

Cap huffed and made a face.  “I’m not sure I’m liable to trust a guy who knows how to give an IV.  I mean, how do you know what’s in that stuff?”

 

“Gage would know.”

 

“Mm-hm.  And look where he is, now.  Nope.  No way.  Can’t trust the rescue guys.  Us engineers gotta stick together, Mike.  At least we know how to handle pressure.”

 

Mike halted with his hands on his hips as he watched Cap walk on ahead.  _Should I tell him that an engineer’s club would include McConnike…?_

 

“Hop to it, Mike.  On the double.  I made all that coffee; don’t want it going to waste,” Cap teasingly ordered from up ahead.  His body was slightly turned back toward Mike and he clapped to encourage Stoker to move faster. 

 

 _On second thought,_ Mike decided, _I don’t want to induce Cap into some McConnike-obsessed water hammer-rant…_   Mike shook his head, switched off his car radio, grabbed his keys then jogged over to catch up to his captain.   

 

The two men headed inside to end their shift and join the rest of their crew.

 

**_fin_ **

 

A/N: Snippets of Captain Stanley’s water hammer story were taken from actual accounts.

 

*”How Long”, 1974. Written by Paul Carrack.

*** “I’ll Be Around”, 1972, written by Thom Bell and Phil Hurtt.


End file.
